


The Powers Of The Powerless

by SoulOfSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulOfSnow/pseuds/SoulOfSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU for a prompt on tumblr.<br/>Detective Superintendent Stannis Baratheon is missing, and all eyes look to Melisandre; a woman with a gift for finding missing persons in her visions. Some believe she is responsible, but Detective Inspector Davos Seaworth will cling to any hope of finding his old friend, and the evidence that has disappeared with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Powers Of The Powerless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bela013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/gifts).



How had she missed this in her cards? How could something so important be lost to a woman with such experience in her field? Melisandre could feel the disapproving eyes on her when she stepped into the office; suppressed rage heavy with disappointment, _I have failed them_.

“Good evening, my friends; the night is dark and—...”

“…full of bullshit. Save us your false courtesies, woman, you are no friend of ours.” One of the officers of the Stag spat, leaning against the desk of Detective Superintendent Baratheon and scowling at her with such intensity Melisandre could _feel_ the look he was giving her. _They hate me_.

Melisandre smiled. “As you say, sir.” She put her arms behind her back and stood as dignified as the men before her would allow. Detective Inspector Davos Seaworth was sat at the desk where Stannis should have been, tapping the fingers on his good hand along the knots in the oak. He looked withdrawn and exhausted; his eyes hollow and sunken in their sockets. When he finally offered her a simple glance, Melisandre saw the pain in his soft brown stare that she had not come across before. As much as it hurt her, as much as it conflicted with everything she truly felt, Melisandre kept her face perfect and calm.  

“This is your fault, redheaded witch! He listened to you,” Another nameless officer stepped forward, poking an accusing finger at her chest. _Touch me, and you’ll lose it_. “He was never into this witchcraft shit before you arrived.”

“Stannis Baratheon was a man of honour. He loved his wife and his daughter, but since you transferred to our department you ruined him.” Melisandre could have laughed at that comment and the fact it fell from the mouth of the coffee boy. _What do you know of honour, child?_

Davos sat forward in the large leather swivel chair and cleared his throat, yet the hateful looks remained upon Melisandre. She felt like they were judging her from the way she looked to the career she had chosen. She wanted nothing more than to run her finger along the ruby that hung from a silver chain around her throat, but each and every man in that room knew it was her comfort and refused to give them a taste of her weakness. “Stannis is still a man of honour, sir—nothing this woman has done so far will tell me otherwise.”

“Nothing _I_ have done? I’m sorry, have I stumbled into a court room, sirs? I feel like I’m on trial.” The spite in her tone was evident, and she could tell it was taking their all not to throttle her. _Touch me, I dare you_. She flashed a venomous smile at the coffee boy, who sat back down abruptly.

“You ought to be.” A nameless officer scoffed, and looked at his wrist watch impatiently. It was fast approaching 2am, and none of these men had slept. Melisandre wondered if it was for their love of Stannis Baratheon that they had worked tirelessly, or for the evidence that had disappeared with him.

Davos sighed heavily. “That’s enough, sir. Melisandre; Stannis entrusted you with his greatest woes, some even I have not learned from the man and I have been his friend and colleague for almost thirty years. Do you know where he is?”

Melisandre wanted nothing more than to flash another of her perfect grins and place her hands on her hips, ready to blow them all out of the water like she had so many times before. Stannis was the only one who had ever truly believed in her, the only one who had ever understood her true gift. She remembered meeting him for the first time—his wife had dragged him with her to the 6th Sense Convention, convinced she had the power to see spirits. Melisandre was holding a seminar on her successes using her gift with the police department in Asshai when he came to her, or rather stumbled upon her as he made for a swift exit. The rest was a beautiful memory; one now tainted by his disappearance. _Why have you left me?_ She couldn’t impress them this time and it hurt to have to admit something like that. Melisandre parted her lips reluctantly to speak, feeling the pressure mounting and the loathing that encased her growing.

“Stannis is missing, and if I know him half as well as I think I do, he will be missing tomorrow, too. Now is not the time for placing the blame and pointing the finger at one another.” Davos looked at each of the officers before sitting back in the chair. “Grab a coffee, or go home and get some sleep. Be back in this room at 9, and we’ll extend our search parameter.”

“Are you kidding me, Seaworth? What, you think this stupid woman will find him—…”

“…like I have over 38% of missing persons cases that have landed on your desk, sir?”

“That doesn’t impress me, Melisandre—I find it all rather suspicious.” The old fool Detective Sergeant Cressen was by far her least favourite officer of the Dragonstone Police Department. He loathed her vehemently and made no attempts at hiding it. The others made sly digs behind her back, but just loud enough that she’d catch the last poisonous word, but Cressen gave her no such honour. “Well? Detective Seaworth asked you a question, witch; do you know where he is?”

Before Melisandre could muster a response, Davos stood. If it had not have been for the tiredness that had taken root deep in his bones, the sudden stance might have evoked fear in the other officers. “Enough DS Cressen, do you hear? I’m tired of this shit, and not sleeping is making us worse. Go home, all of you—now.”

“Yes, sir.” Cressen was followed out by the rest of the incompetent bunch that sided with him, but Matthos Seaworth, a sweet and honourable Detective Constable who aspired to be like his father remained behind. He almost offered Melisandre a smile when he stepped forward and rested a hand on the oak desk.

“Dad, you haven’t been home in days,” His voice was hushed, but not so much that Melisandre found it difficult to hear him. “Mum wants to see you, she worries about you. You know what happens when you take on too much work—you get messy.” Matthos reached over and lifted his father’s mangled hand onto the desk. Davos managed to suppress any look of discomfort and only a small grimace flickered across his face. It had been almost two years since DI Seaworth had suffered his injury, yet still it pained him and still the rumours of what happened that night were whispered through the station. Melisandre was one of the only to know the truth, told to her by Stannis himself.

 Davos’s son Allard was a well-known smuggler and thief, and a successful one at that—until he found himself treading water too deep in the hierarchy of the gang he was associated with, owing large sums of money to one of the most feared men of the Iron Islands; Euron Greyjoy. It had been Davos who had found Allard beaten to within an inch of his life, and Davos who had agreed to smuggle drugs from Cape Wrath to Braavos to pay his son’s debts. Stannis wasn’t a Missing Persons Detective at the time, and was assigned the job to intervene the heist. Melisandre could clearly remember the pain in his voice when he explained finding Davos on the deck of the boat; some old ship used to carrying onions to and from the Summer Isles, carrying bags of cocaine and a concoction of other narcotics down into the boiler station. Davos was explaining his situation when the other criminals spotted them conversing and assumed Davos was in on the whole thing, raining bullets on the two men as they made their escape. Stannis fired and downed several men, but they were ambushed from behind as they ran and Stannis shot his gun straight through Davos’s hand; obliterating the digits as though they were never even there. Davos was rushed to hospital a civilian, and thanks to Stannis Baratheon, he left as one too. The bond the two men shared was as strong as steel, especially as Davos had saved him that night when one of the drug smugglers attempted to cut DSI Baratheon’s throat. From that night on, both vowed to keep that night’s events a secret; one Stannis Baratheon would never reveal to a soul, not even his wife. _But he told me_.

“I’ll be home tomorrow, son. I need to finish off here first.” Davos clapped his good hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled. Matthos stood up and nodded somewhat reluctantly before he too left, closing the office door behind him. Melisandre finally let out the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding, and took a seat on the other side of the desk.

“He is a good boy, you have raised him well.” Melisandre purred, relaxing in the soft, worn leather of the chair.

Davos grunted. “I don’t need you to tell me that, Melisandre.”

“Of course not, sir.” Melisandre watched in silence as Davos proceeded to unlock the top draw of Stannis’s desk and pull out a bottle of whiskey. He turned and lifted a tumbler from the top of the filing cabinet.

He paused. “Do you want one?” He asked, before placing two glasses down in front of him, sweeping a pile of papers aside with the back of his hand. “Of course you do; we all could do with a drink.”

“Thank you, sir.” Melisandre took the glass, only looking at Davos when their fingers lightly touched between the exchange—the both sets of eyes were firmly on the floor.

“I know I have not been particularly… accepting of your ‘gift’, but if you _do_ know something, I ask that you tell me now and save me all this effort to find Stannis.”

Melisandre could not look up now; she could feel her strength draining and her arrogance fading. “I don’t know anything, Davos.” She downed the whiskey in one swallow, shivering at the strength of such a poison. “I have no idea where he is.” When Davos didn’t respond, Melisandre allowed herself to glance at him. He looked even worse than before and it was then that she realised he had invested some hope in her talents. She had found children stuck in wells, men kidnapped by brutes and women lost in forests—but she could not find Stannis. Five days was a long time for a man to vanish without word, and with a car full of influential evidence in a case on Gregor Clegane; a man wanted in connection for his missing sister, it was even more important he was found soon.

“Well, I suppose I should have expected as much. Stannis is a private man—good at covering his tracks,” _And yours._ “I think we’ll only find him once he wants to be found.” Davos poured another round of drinks and rocked back on the great chair, swallowed up by the black leather so that he looked much smaller than he was. He seemed to be examining the map of Westeros that had been printed across the great oak desk Stannis had had commissioned when he was assigned as Detective Superintendent, looking for answers as to where the Baratheon might have gone.

“Your son is right, sir; it won’t do sitting here and drinking ourselves into a worse state. Go home, Davos… go home and see your wife.”

Davos looked up. “Who waits for you at home, Melisandre?” _Without Stannis around, my bed sees little use._

Melisandre smiled. “A warm fire and a glass of Dornish red, sir.” Her reply made Davos crack a weary smile before he stood and stretched his aching back. Melisandre uncrossed her slim legs and stood also; draining her second glass and placing it back on the table.

They walked together through the ghostly corridors; it had long gone 3am and there were only night shift Sergeants on duty at their desks. A few wished Davos a good night, but none spoke to Melisandre. They were hit by a stiff breeze as they entered the car park to find their cars. Davos drove an old black Rover that he’d nicknamed Bertha, whilst Melisandre preferred her crimson Ford Escort with the pet name R’hllor; the name given to her gift in Asshai. The two four wheeled beasts sat side by side in the darkness, bringing their owners together as they fished for their keys.

Melisandre pulled hers from her handbag and jangled them cheerfully. “Well, until tomorrow, Detective Inspector!”

“Melisandre,” Davos’s tone was full of woe, and he placed a tender arm on her elbow. “Have a lie in, get some rest.”

“I don’t need rest, sir. I can help you find Stannis—I found over 38% of—…”

“…of DS Cressen’s missing persons cases, I know. But this is different; this is one of our own.” Davos dropped his hand and leaned against his car, hands in his pockets.

Melisandre kicked a stone with one of her patent red heels. “You think I am a waste of money, just like Cressen and the rest of them.” She glared at him, unable to hide her hurt. “I don’t expect you to believe me, sir—only Stannis was faithful enough to open himself to me and my gift. But I _can_ connect with the suffering and I _can_ help you find him I just wish—…” Before Melisandre could finish, Davos leaned forward and kissed her; hesitantly at first, and then with more fervour. He wrapped a hand around her waist and parted his lips, slipping his tongue inside her mouth as soon as she relented. Melisandre placed a hand on his chest and relaxed a little, allowing him to possess her quite willingly. Davos ran his mangled hand through her crimson hair with as much tenderness as a stunted hand could muster, until Melisandre gasped and moved her hands towards the zipper of his trousers. Then he pushed her away.

“Nope, didn’t think so.” He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Melisandre stood speechless; eyes wide and glued to the DI.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Are you really that stupid, woman? You think Stannis hasn’t told me about the time you coerced him into fucking you?”

Melisandre laughed bitterly. “Coerced; is that what DSI Baratheon calls it? All I did was hitch up my skirt and he was begging for it.” _But he told you—that I cannot believe. Did he tell you about all the times we’ve fucked?_

“At first I didn’t believe him; especially when I caught you kissing in his car. But when I confronted Stannis he didn’t seem concerned that _anyone_ saw. He said that when he kissed you, he could see what you can see with this ‘talent’ of yours.” Davos smirked and took his car keys from his jacket pocket. “I knew he was lying, I didn’t see a fucking thing. He’s a liar and you’re a liar and now he’s gone.”

“That man is your friend, and your Superintendent, sir.”

“A good man can still tell lie, Melisandre. Stannis Baratheon lied for me, and I have lied for him—countless times.” Davos unlocked his car and walked around the bonnet to the driver’s side door. “Don’t come in tomorrow, Melisandre; we won’t need your services.”

“I work for this station, you can’t stop me.”

“With Stannis missing, I am acting in his stead and that means I _can_ and I _will_ tell you what to do. Stay away from Dragonstone PD, Melisandre. If Stannis wants to employ you then so be it, but I do not.” Davos slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It was only once he’d driven away that Melisandre allowed herself to permit one single tear to roll down her cheek. _My only hope, vanquished._

 


End file.
